sleeping on a stone couch

I love this picture bink took of me napping yesterday near the mini-golf sculpture course. My hair color matches the stone!

I might take it to my first counseling session this morning (though I'd have to take this laptop to show her).

If the psychologist were to be at all Jungian-y, we could talk about what happens in fairy tales when people fall asleep on magic stone furniture....

But I expect she is more about life skills, DBT, and that sort of modern approach, which is probably what I need;
I don't need more metaphors, which I can spin myself all day long, I need some traction.

Actually, I'm in a bit of that pre-first-appointment panic:
Why again am I'm doing this?

I said "midlife tuneup", and that's the general idea, . . . but what a lot this vehicle has been through at midlife. 
On the surface, I'm worried about the dings and dents of job hunting -- needing to find work, after I'm done editing the president books at Christmastime. I need practical help, career counseling for people with gray hair.

But under the hood---wow, what a tangle of wires wrapped in electrical tape. Like, you know, I suppose I might just mention my mother's suicide? Stuff like that.

I have gathered Show and Tell, because that's my favorite way to present myself. 
I'm taking the watercolors I did of my mother's life a couple years ago that I had to stop doing because I couldn't breathe; 
a b&w photo of me as a little kid drawing with total concentration at the kitchen table; 
the picture of Capt. Kirk that hangs in my bathroom;
the rescue rabbit in the samurai waistcoat I made this weekend. What is this rescue and recovery of discarded wounded treasure, my own and others', about? Is the stone couch a portal to someplace? Where?

I must go now.